


a hotter touch (a better fuck)

by colferstilinski



Series: The one with boy vaginas [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Boypussy, Dirty Talk, First Time, Frottage, Intercrural Sex, It looks kinky as fuck but it's really not its just a dude that wanna get funky with another dude, M/M, Underage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 18:15:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colferstilinski/pseuds/colferstilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Along with the picture Derek sent, was a little text message attached with it.</p><p>
  <i>‘I used to have really bad bunnies before I got on braces. So, a secret for a secret, yeah? Sleep well, Stiles.’</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	a hotter touch (a better fuck)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a somewhat continuation? A sequel from that first fic, it's not really necessary to read that first to read this but hey, it would help a lot on not being too overly confused.
> 
> P/s: I don't have a beta and I don't understand how to use English properly \o/
> 
> P/P/s: A reader informed me that not a lot of people in this fandom knows what boypussy is, so um. Here I come out from the hidden depths of the gkm and here goes a 4am explaination. Basically it strafes away from all transgendered topics. Stiles is /not/ biologically female and identifies himself as a male. He /is/ a dude who just so happens to have biological female parts. It's all fictitious, there's no such thing in real life. Boypussies also /do/ have sub-categories, having just the female genitalia is not the only boypussy. There's no right or wrong types of boypussy, if it's your kink, it's yours. No harm, no foul. Boypussies include: Male with both female/male genitalia. Male with both female/male genitalia and also has the prostate/g-spot. Male with both female/male genitalia but only has a prostate. Male with both female/male genitalia but only has a g-spot. Or male with only female genitalia. Or male with female genitalia and prostate.
> 
> Really, anything goes with boypussies. If it gets you all hot and bothered in your loins, then you've found your type of boypussy!
> 
> You could read it up on here that explains more about how the tw kink meme looks at it, but really, I'm just an all around kinks lovers, so maybe they could have used more proper terms like 'intersex' because honestly, I can't even understand the simple grasp of English to explain anything really properly.
> 
> Warning: Both characters are consexual underage participants, there might be a little dub-con moments, but trust me, it's definitely all very, /very/ consensual, it's just Stiles is a little slow on the uptake (heh).

Stiles finds out that Derek turns out to be an ogre after ‘The Big V’ (yes, that’s what he’s calling it, capitalization and all that jazz because it deserves it’s monumental respect). Uh, not a literal ogre by the way, where he’s like ten feet tall and bathes in his own nose gunk or something.

That shit needs Jesus.

Okay, fine, but say if Derek was one, Stiles would definitely try to be into it. Hell, he definitely would go all the way with trying and even strategize out sexual positions for them to try without turning him into mashed human limbs mid thrust.

C’mon, the dude accepted his vagina! The least he can do is repay back the acceptance for his hypothetical Shrek forsaken life.

Back to the point of Derek and his affiliation to being an ogre, with the multi-layers and what’s not.

Turns out that the cool-o-meter lied and Derek really isn’t a whole hundred percent bad boy and rocking 80’s suave in the now. He’s like a damn tootsie roll, all soft and chewy in the center, a dork he truly is (layers man, it’s the damn layers) and he hides all of it under folds of leather, painted on skinnies and a whole wad load of hair wax.

Yeah, he may also need an intervention for that. The wax thing.

Derek just doesn’t understand that just a teeny pinch of it is enough for his experimental greaser pompadour (damn summer and Netflix, curses) and dumps like half of it into his hair until it becomes all stiff and flaky, like dried up come that accidentally slashes onto Stiles’ hair when he decides to go for the money shot.

Now do you see _why_ he needs the intervention?

Regardless of come-like hair, Derek is a total sweetheart under all that fake doom and gloom he struts around in.

See, after ‘The Big V’, Stiles receives a picture from Derek via text message an hour after he left for home. He guesses it’s probably an old photo since the corners of the photograph are looking a little frayed and Derek is sporting serious baby fattened cheeks and itty bitty chest that makes him look so pine-sized in comparison to the herculean one he’s been packing on.

Then there’s also the fact that Derek is smiling so wide, it looks like he found a magical jackpot full of lollipops in a unicorn’s ass or something mid snap of the picture.

One true dork. He’s going to pitch a show like that to MTV one day.

It also kind of makes Stiles’ inner-paternal ways coo at it, because, Derek was disgustingly adorable as a kid. He even needed to take a minute to punch himself hard in the crotch and make manly grunts at the mirror just in case he loses his head and start making silly baby gurgling noises at his phone.

Yep, never going to make that mistake again.

What? It was an incident a few years back, okay! He was like, _eh_ , ten or so. Let it be known that there’s no such thing as good decision making at that age when it comes down to a pre-pubescent kid, opening of Christmas presents and a human sized teddy bear.

Nope, nada, _zilch._

Also, because his dad is like all nasty dads in the world and wants to simultaneously humiliate their child to no end but also have the insane need to live up to their mug of ‘World’s Best Dad’, his shame now permanently resides on Facebook where he’s having a break down over a gigantic plush toy that demanded to be called Mr. Snuggly-boo.

Ye- _ah_ … Stiles still have hangs up with social network sites to this day because of it.

Anyway, along with the picture Derek sent, was a little text message attached with it.

_‘I used to have really bad bunnies before I got on braces. So, a secret for a secret, yeah? Sleep well, Stiles.’_

Derek is the best boyfriend to ever, _ever_.

-

It takes about two weeks after the whole vagina debacle before anything funky goes down between them.

The good, rolling in between the sheets, having their ankles get awkwardly locked on hips and knees, rumpity hump funk. Not the other kind where they end up throwing toilet paper at each other and scream bloody murder into each other’s eardrums.

No thank you, the other funk can hop back into nope-ville.

They’re watching Finding Nemo on Stiles’ laptop on his bed (oh, don’t be pretentious you scrub, everyone pops in Disney once a while, you heartless bastard) when Derek scoots in closer to him, popping that little bubble people call personal space.

“Babe,” He murmurs roughly, little staccatos of hot breath blowing onto his right ear. Stiles feels a shiver curling in from his toes and mild teenage arousal piquing in interest at his groin area. What? He’s _sixteen_. He’s allowed to get turned on by anything. “You ever, uh, touch yourself?”

Stiles at least has some decency to blush (oh look, blushing virgin, ha-ha-ha) and feels the heat creeping up his nape, stretching to the bottom of his hairline. He licks his lips, nods his head albeit shakily, “Um, yeah? Sometimes? Yeah. Don’t really like it much though.”

They haven’t really talked about the whole vagina deal after ‘The Big V’, hence why it’s called that. So, this is like another one of those moments, not overly important, but still holds somewhat significant. He could call it ‘The Second V’.

Okay, now that’s just trying way too hard.

“ _God_ ,” Derek groans softly, appreciatively, at his answer. His head lolls lazily onto Stiles’ shoulder, chin tucking in, before he’s quietly mumbling out, “Why not?”

Stiles squirms, okay fine, he’s fidgeting.

It’s one thing to confess you have a pussy, that he can do, has done, but it’s a whole other thing to share masturbatory stories. Okay, like dudes that swap porn links with each other because they’re _that_ level of best buds but they don’t extend that courtesy in actually watching porn together. Yeah, so _this_? Kind of falls into the same category.

He stammers out, “I just—Uh, _heh_ —Well, it, _I_ , get really wet. Which I’m sure you know because you take the same Health Ed class as I do, well, the whole get-down is basically the same without me having flopping tits or something and the whole, uh, where I’m a dude? Yeah. Okay, I just—I don’t like getting my fingers all lubed up with my own special Stiles de vaginal lube! It’s… weird.”

Derek snickers and puts his hand on Stiles’ thigh. The soothing touch, _ah_ , also the guy really likes his circles. “Well, get a vibrator then. It gets the job done, without the mess.”

“Eh,” Stiles laughs awkwardly, shrugging. “Tried it. Not my thing. I like the build-up.”

“Oh, _fuck—_ ” Derek grunts and he tucks his face into Stiles’ neck, breathing heavily.

Stiles knows that sound, has heard it more times in the past five months to know that it’s a sure tale tell sign of—Yep, we have tenting, lift-off, or whatever erection-like innuendos one can think of.

“Dude,” Stiles says pointedly, with fond in his tone and he’s flicking his gaze back onto his laptop screen. “Are you getting horny off this, man? Me being this total saucy minx whom have man-handled you a couple of times but am actually is a total innocent self-lover or something?”

“Yes,” He replies easily, smoothly, like admitting getting turned on is not even the slightest bit embarrassing. He even sounds like he’s enjoying talking about it, christ, the dude has balls of steel. “I’ve also been jerking myself raw the past two weeks thinking about you.”

Stiles’ breath hitches sharply at that and then he’s squabbling out an answer, all breathless and flustered. “Y-yeah?”

Derek has a way with dirty talk, it’s like his thing. He was probably a really famous sell out porn star in his previous life or something while Stiles, let’s be honest. He reigns at being the worst dirty talker, considering the fact that he talks so much during the day, it’s kind of pathetic.

There was one time he tried with Ethan, some senior from school that sports in Basketball, he had a week long fling with him and his mouth slipped just that one time. He got socked. Like a true, shove-in-his-mouth socking where one of Ethan’s sweat stained gym socks was stuffed into his face.

Yeah, so that ends all hopes and endeavours in ever sustaining a phone sex operator job if real life doesn’t work out the way it should after graduation. Anyway, he make do with a few noises, groans out a few ‘mm, yeah, you like it like this?’ before he shuts the hell up and hopes he hasn’t turned anyone off to the point where there’s no happy ending.

He blames porn for everything, yeah.

“What did you think of?” Stiles asks hesitantly, see he’s playing it cool, the build-up dirty talk he can do. The real filthy ones, _hah_ , he’ll just hand it over to bodacious Hale.

“Your fucking mouth, _god_ , always your mouth.” Derek tells him and his fingers start to inch a little from his thigh, just grazing smoothly on fingertips against the creases of his fingers until it reaches the dip where thigh meets hip. “Your body,” and then, oh, he’s rubbing circles onto that silver of skin at his hipbones where his shirt has ridden up from lying down, all heat flushed and anticipating. “Your cunt.”

Stiles groans loudly and struggles to muffle the sound into Derek’s hair but only ends up getting guava smelling wax in his mouth. “Oh, _shit_ —Derek.”

“Yeah,” Derek grunts, nips a little on the thin skin at his neck before he’s saying, “You know, I’ve always thought that I’m into guys because of their dicks, but that day after you told me— I couldn’t get you out of my head.”

“It’s the boyish charm, you can’t deny it. Everyone gets baited by it.” Stiles quips proudly and he huffs up his chest a little.

Derek snorts, “No,” and his other hand moves to start palming himself through his jeans like he needs soothe the ache from getting hard so quickly, and Stiles feels the tiny flutter of eyelashes against his neck when he heaves out a sigh of relief. “It’s a little more explicit.”

“About my—” Stiles starts but he gets cuts off.

“Yes,” Derek interrupts raspily. “Couldn’t get the picture of you all laid out on this bed for me. Wet and hot in the center, your little virgin hole just _waiting_ for me. God, Stiles, I fucked my cock into my mattress until I was red and raw, my sheets wet with come.”

“Derek,” Stiles whines and he should feel oddly embarrassed by how needy he sounds but fuck that, he’s clawing at Derek until his lips are against his teeth, all rough and brash with too much tongue, like a couple of teenagers they really are.

Stiles gasps out from the kiss, panting, before he’s ducking back in for seconds with hands flailing over ass, hips and too many layers of clothing until Derek’s finally on top of him, straddling him somewhat, with a thigh tucked nicely just in between his legs.

“Look at you,” Derek growls, lips all kissed swollen and heavy lidded lust shot eyes when he pulls back. “You look like you’re in heat, fuck, so hot.”

“Shut up— _oh my god_ , shut up.” Stiles snaps impatiently because there’s a time and place for the reunion of his deep rooted cat heritage and this is totally not the time for metaphors. He likes his hand down in Derek’s pants like five minutes ago. “C’mon, go back to kissing me, don’t you dare deny me, Hale.”

Then he’s flattening his palms on Derek’s ass cheeks, grunts out a litany of praises for it because, _oh god,_ it’s fleshy and taut and all _his_ to touch, and fuck sanity, he’s grabbing it, urging Derek forward and before he knows it, a loud moan rips out from him. A back arching, fingernails digging into flesh kind of moan.

“Fuck—” Stiles pants out, “Your thigh.”

Derek smirks and swivels his hips just a little, teasing, thigh bumping against Stiles’ crotch. “You can always ask me to stop if you want. I’ll stop.”

“Don’t!” Stiles grits out, dips his fingers under Derek’s shirt until he’s just teasing along the skirts along his jeans where he feels sweat pooling there. How does the feel of sweat turn him on, he will never know. “Feels good, yeah, continue doing— _that_ , yeah, oh shit.”

Derek is rutting against his hip, and he feels the thick line of his cock pressing angrily against the zipper and branding it onto his skin. It’s so fucking hot that Stiles is writhing, blunt nails digging into Derek’s back, and he kind of thinks it shouldn’t be this hot--- the dry humping, but _it_ _is_.

He’s wet, soaking in his little boy briefs, feels it with every slip and slide of Derek’s jerky movement whenever he wedges his thigh just a little higher, a little harder against his crotch, jolting a surprising wave of ecstasy through his veins.

God, they’re hitting a new limit. Just a new tap and go into a whole other sexual dimension they’ve never gone to. It’s heady, and exciting, and apparently, he doesn’t have the urge or intention to say no this time.

“Your pants,” Stiles hisses after they spend a few more seconds fucking each other dry on body parts before it starts feeling like his leg is about to burn up with the devil’s heat with chafing. “Gotta go. Take ‘em off. Fucking strip, you asshole!”

Derek grins at him, all dark and mischievous, and Stiles knows that grin. Has seen it that one time after he stroked Derek to bliss and then his tongue poked out in between those lips and started lapping up all the come balled up in between Stiles’ fingers, even tonguing in between the v of it, and he moaned like one of those come hungered sluts that haven’t been fed in years.

Fuck, he still uses that as fodder whenever he masturbates.

Derek starts pressing his thumb near the base of Stiles’ neck, just smoothing out warm spit and sweat against what he assumes to be now a slowly bruising hickey because it feels all tingly and numb to the touch.

“Only if yours come off too.”

Stiles gives him the dirtiest look he can. “If not?”

Derek’s still grinning, that sick bastard, all teeth and flushed cheeks. “Then we’ll just hump each other until we come with our clothes on.”

Stiles doesn’t like that one bit because the thing he like about sexy times with Derek is because he absolutely adores having all that inches of sun kissed skin to touch, to explore, and to stick it in his mouth and lick away the soapy taste against his skin until it reveals the pure essence of Derek. All dry wood and flesh salts.

He pushes Derek off and fumbles with his own zipper with shaky hands, and Jesus Christ, how does one even get the button to open on this thing? He may need to hire a detective or some sort of crime scene investigator to figure this out, or—maybe not, because Derek swats his hands away and does it with a simple flick of his wrist and oh, there’s a tiny preview of his underwear on display.

Stiles wore his batman briefs today so he doesn’t feel any waves of embarrassment thundering through.

Then Derek’s pushing the sides of his jeans down until they bunch at his knees because his legs got really sweaty from all the cardio humping they did, and there’s a long moment where it’s all push and pull between them until they finally get off.

Okay, he spoke too fast, now he feels a little off foot with the awkwardness and embarrassment because Derek’s just staring at him. Yeah, he’s not even blinking, so Stiles do what he does, follows Derek’s line of sight.

He sees his own wiry muscles, a fairly thinned out happy trail that leads to…well, happy places, and then oh—Derek can see the little damp spot on his boxers.

Well, they’re blue in colour, for fuck’s sake, so it doesn’t really hide anything.

“You’re wet,” Derek points out, like it’s a goddamn revelation because he sounds so in awe, and he’s still gaping at circa crotch region like he has been blessed by the Gods or something.

Stiles rolls his eyes and shifts a little. He hates being scrutinized, any normal person does. “Uh, duh, were you like absent when a clone of yours was rubbing up all against me?”

“Oh shut up.” Derek huffs, pinching his thigh lightly. “You know what I meant.”

“Mmm,” Stiles hums. “Be glad that I’m not dense.”

Derek laughs softly and finally tears his gaze away. He presses his cheek against his bare stomach (god, his shirt is right about up to his armpits now) and feels the slight burn of aftershave against his skin when he rubs his face against his skin.

“Fuck, I’m so hard for you right now.”

“Yeah?” Stiles says airily. “Take off your pants then. We had a deal, Derek.”

“Fine, fine.” Derek grumbles and then he flops beside Stiles on the bed, does that little twisty flick thing with his wrist and his jeans button goes pop, god, he really needs to learn how to do that. He starts shoving his jeans off effortlessly, and it’s devastating to watch because his jeans are blood circulation tight while Stiles’ are baggy but yet it took them about two minutes to take them off.

The world is unfair. His _life_ is unfair.

“Done,” Derek tells him and mindlessly throws his jeans on to the floor where his pants are probably also lying. It’s hard to say, there’s only so much Stiles can focus at one time and when there’s a half-naked dude in front of him, his priorities for attire just flies out the window.

“You’re picking those up later, man.” Stiles informs him plainly. “It’ll be like you’re my own personal sex slave.”

Derek flicks his nose and rolls on of him, mumbles out a really sarcastic _“Yeah, yeah, Mister Stilinski,”_ and then swoops in to capture his lips into his mouth again before he can make a smart comeback.

Stiles groans into it, he always does. There’s something about kissing Derek that makes every nerve ending combust and it wretches out an immediate reaction out of him. He can’t help it, magical ass powers are to be blamed.

All he _can_ do is arch into the kiss, fists his hands into Derek’s shirt and slide his tongue into his mouth for more.

It’s not long before Derek nudges his thigh back in between, presses down firmly every then and so and starts to thrust a little harder like he’s trying to achieve something. Stiles has no problems with it, nope, none at all, because it feels fucking amazing and all he can do is choke out a small incoherent litany of _‘yes, Derek, oh my god, fuck’._

“Shit, you’re making a mess all over my thigh.”

Derek swears like a second later, frustrated and a little pained, and then he pulls back abruptly, peeling off his shirt with such eloquent grace that Stiles quickly decides to do the same. Although not as smoothly as Derek but whatever.

He’s long given up on having any sort of normal coordination with his limbs.

“You’re like a fucking twink,” Derek murmurs, voice utterly wrecked. He presses little wet kisses from Stiles’ jawline until he reaches his chest, and then swivels his tongue onto a pebbled nipple, sucks it into his mouth and mouths out a moan.

Stiles whimpers, hands tightening their hold on Derek’s back and starts rutting against Derek’s thigh.

“Wanna touch you.” Derek growls out, and Stiles pulls his nails against skin, hopes it’s painful enough for Derek to understand that he needs to put his mouth back and continue tongue fucking his nipple. “Fuck, say that I can touch you, Stiles.”

He does, put his mouth back.

“You are— _guh_ , you know, touching me.” Stiles gurgles out what he hopes is a somewhat coherent answer because Derek is a kind bastard and actually pays attention to both nipples, and he’s just writhing under him.

They’re really sensitively, okay? It varies with dudes, and Stiles just so happen to be tipping on the off scales of having monumental life-changing sensitive type of nipples that apparently loves Derek’s mouth.

“Wait—” Derek pulls back because he’s a fucking _sadist_ and Stiles fucking loses it and whines. “I wanna touch you. _There._ And I don’t want to push you into doing something you don’t want to.” He says slowly and he drags his hand until they’re on Stiles’ hipbones, just a few inches away from his crotch, tapping at the bone.

Stiles growls, yeah, he does, all teeth and petulance, and takes Derek’s hand in his and shoves it against his crotch where it’s all damp and warm from musky arousal.

He fists his other free hand into Derek’s hair, surprisingly all soft, he guesses it’s because of all the sweat romping they’ve done themselves up that washed away most of the stiffness that came with the wax, and lunges in for another kiss.

Derek startles and goes into freeze mode, and Stiles, he’s just not having _any_ of that shit. So, he somewhat curls his fingers with Derek’s to the point they’re cupping  his pubic mound and starts to slip their hands a little lower. Down where he’s heady and sex hot, drenched in the stickiness of his own lubrication.

“God, Derek, you better start touching me or I’m gonna—” Stiles get cuts off with his own moan, high and breathy because Derek apparently loves to be commanded in bed.

Derek jumps out of his little situation and kisses him back, heartily and with too much clashing of teeth, lip biting and soft little grunts. Stiles pulls his hand out when Derek seems to get the hang of it, sliding in between the folds against the cloth where it’s slicked with his own juice and up again to rub little teasing circles against his clit.

“You’re so wet I could probably just take you right here.” Derek grounds out, his hips flexing and shoulders shuddering where he’s rubbing one out against Stiles’ thigh. “Yeah, fuck, could slick my cock right into your little hole and it’ll be so smooth.”

“Do it,” Stiles pants out, scrabbling for more skin to hold, to grab, to wrap his thin long fingers into all that damn hair and fucking _yank_ on it. “Fuck me.”

“No,” Derek says plaintively, like _woah_ , hold the fuck up. Wasn’t he the one just talking about it like two seconds ago? “Next time. I promise. We’ll plan. I don’t want your first time to be some dry humping escalation. You deserve candles and all that shit.”

“You’re a fucking sap, aren’t you?” Stiles mocks and then lets out a guttural cry when Derek presses a little firmer against that small nub, sending shock waves of pleasure through his body. “Jesus, take your underwear off.”

Derek smirks, kisses him a little off tilt on the mouth. “So, naked dry humping?”

“Shut up, you dork.”

They strip themselves in record time, seeing that they have their limbs all entangled with one another. And they just stare at each other, because, hey, this is the big moment, right?

Derek is all flushed skin and heaving chest, all hard wired with tensed muscles and honey painted skin while Stiles contrasts heavily next to him. He’s pale limbs and sharp shoulders, with the frequent splash of freckles and moles on his gangly body.

Stiles feels like he should feel a little insecure, or something, since Derek’s almost half a size bigger than he is and is kind of breath-takingly gorgeous stark naked, with his cock erected, nestled dark in a thick thatch of hair and hanging out like it’s doing its own thang, but he doesn’t.

It kind of feels like art, where two kinds of colours that you doubt would ever mix well, but transforms into some earth-shattering kind of magic against canvas under spotlight. That’s how he feels about him and Derek and okay, he’s getting way too sentimental so he decides to make the first move.

He spreads his legs wide. Moment of truth, heh.

Stiles watches Derek track his movement from his side, lets him watch, stare at it until it’s second nature for a dude to have smooth and folds in between instead of thick and heavy. Stiles is proud of his vagina, he is.

He likes that he has neatly trimmed pubes that frames his vagina nicely and draws down where his folds are swollen and blood hot with slick. He’s never been ashamed of it, it’s just, and he knows it’s a taboo for dudes to have female parts but for him, it feels… _normal_.

It’s a part of him, and he has never spent a day wishing that he has a dick than all of this.

“Gorgeous, babe.” Derek tells him, and he kisses his knee. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

Stiles gives in and wiggles his toes, he deserves the right to after all the hoo-ha, okay?

“C’mere,” Stiles says, making grabby hands at Derek and he follows, kneels all the way until he’s situated in between him, cock bumping against his thigh and hands cupping into his face before he’s pulled into a deep kiss.

They pull apart and Derek’s hand flies to his pussy, cupping it, and moulding his fingers with inexperienced favour as he slicks his hand with his own spit, rubbing it against the swollen nub. All blood engorged and tensed with the need for release.

“Derek, _oh_ —fuck.”

He watches with half lidded eyes as Derek holds the base of his cock and then gathers a little of Stiles’ juice from his entrance where it’s soaked until he’s dripping down his asscrack and grinds into him. Jerks his cockhead against his clit until he finds a nice momentum where he can just thrust against until they’re both panting and muffling whines into each other’s sweaty necks.

He watches the slide of Derek’s cock peeking through the front of his pubic mound, where his cunt is swallowing with every out thrust and then draws down until the rim of his blunt head is nearly about to be pushed inside before he’s squelching up, one of the under veins of Derek’s cock digging into his clit.

“I’m close,” Stiles strangles out, biting onto Derek’s shoulder and clenching his eyes shut.

Derek picks up his pace, let’s loose his inhibition with every jerky slip of a thrust and then he’s mouthing into Stiles’ ear, growling out, “God, your cunt. Wanna fuck you soon. Wanna push my cock inside you and shoot deep into your stomach, plug all that shit inside you until I’m hard again.”

“Oh god, yes, yes, _yes_!” Stiles shouts out, digging nails into flesh and hopes it draw blood.

Derek slips his cock all the way front, all hard pressed against that taut little pleasure knob before he thrusts back and jerks in forth, accidentally pressing the blunt head of his cock against his entrance a little too much and Stiles loses it.

“Fuc- I’m coming, oh, _Derek_ —”

Stiles feels his body snap into two, arching with pleasure waves throbbing from his center to the tips of his fingers, the way his vagina clenches and tightening until it releases all that tension when he cuts off his breathing and then the warmness starts to spread through his body like wildfire.

The way Derek loses it at mid thrust and the first spurts of come is inside Stiles before he’s pulling out and rutting against his hip until his stomach is a mess of cock jizz.

“Oh fuck,” Stiles inhales sharply and then he’s pulling Derek by his hair for another kiss until they’re both breathing shallowly into each other’s mouths. They break apart after five minutes, when Derek’s come is drying into a thin watery sheet on his abdomen and feels the sweat at the back of his knees, on his forehead, fucking everywhere really.

Derek starts connecting with his inner-cat and Stiles leaves him to it, stroking the dips of his back.

“Dude,” Stiles moans weakly, squinting, the exhaustion finally catching on. “You okay?”

“Mmm,” Derek grumbles, nuzzling into his collar bone. “I just came my brains.”

“Hi five, man.” Stiles jokes tiredly. “So… about that ‘next time’ deal, how about thirty minutes from now?”

Derek snorts and then pinches him at his waist. “We’ll see. Now, shut up, you’re ruining the afterglow.”

**Author's Note:**

> Can you tell that I haven't written porn in a long time? :|
> 
> Edit: Tried to remove some spelling errors but it's still too early for any good read through.


End file.
